


Crossing the Rubicon

by Cerberusia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Collars, M/M, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was only after a pen. Instead, while rummaging through one of Stiles' many desk drawers, he finds a collar. It fits him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing the Rubicon

**Author's Note:**

> For my Kink Bingo _collars_ square. Title from The Sounds.

He was only after a pen. Instead, while rummaging through one of Stiles' many desk drawers, he finds a collar. Narrow band, dark green leather, lined with lambskin to keep it from chafing. A D-ring, but no tags. It's made like a perfectly ordinary dog collar, except that Derek knows it isn't. The lining for a start, and the odd colour - and the _smell_. It smells like sweat and come. Stiles has jerked off while holding it. Not while wearing it, though - the buckle is stiff, like it's rarely undone.

So who is he imagining wearing it? Not Lydia, surely - around her, Stiles acts like he'd rather she collared him. But it could be almost anyone else, even a different person every time. In fantasies you don't have to be faithful.

Derek's seen Stiles covertly eyeing his arms and pecs whenever he wears tight, sleeveless shirts. Stiles could even have been thinking of him.

He exhales slowly, and unbuckles the collar. The sudden punch of arousal makes his hands shake as he wraps it around his neck and buckles it comfortably, choosing a hole right in the middle. It's a perfect fit.

He tells himself it doesn't mean anything and hooks a finger through the D-ring, pulling a little. The tug on his neck, demanding that he bare his throat in submission, sets his skin tingling. He presses his other hand flat against his cock through his pants. He doesn't feel in control. He tries to control his breathing.

Footsteps on the stairs - Stiles'. He'd only gone downstairs to put something in the oven, leaving Derek to write down what he needed on the agenda for talking to the Alpha pack. He needs to take the collar off now, stuff it back in the drawer and grab the pen he was originally looking for and think of an excuse for why he hasn't written anything down yet. But he can't move. He just stands there, in Stiles' bedroom, bracing himself with one hand on the desk behind him, the other loosely by his side, the collar feeling so _right_ around his neck.

"So if we," Stiles says as he comes in, then stops, because he sees Derek by the desk, stance casual but posture tense, and the _collar_. The collar that Derek's pretty sure no-one was supposed to know about, and he's _wearing_ it. He should be trying to get a read on Stiles' emotions, but all he can see is surprise, and all he can hear is his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears, and all he can smell is his own rank fear and arousal.

"So, uh. It fits." Stiles makes a vague gesture at the collar, then clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, not that I was expecting it to, since, y'know-" Derek tunes him out then, because Stiles is lying. Stiles is _lying_. He expected the collar to fit. To fit Derek.

"What were you thinking?" he interrupts, then clarifies, because that could be taken the wrong way, "when you jerked off thinking of me in this, I mean." Stiles turns violently red. Derek doesn't know what he's doing. He's not like this usually, not sexually aggressive, not sexual full stop unless it's to charm someone. He doesn't know why he's like this. He doesn't know why he wants this.

Stiles opens and closes his mouth for a couple of moments, his face still pink. Derek finds he likes it. At last he gets out:

"Are we - are we really doing this?" It's obviously difficult for him to look Derek in the eyes, but he is. He's asking more than that, and Derek wants to tell him that this can mean as much or as little as he wants, that Derek doesn't know any more than he does, that he can say no. But Derek doesn't know how to reassure people, so he just repeats, more softly,

"What were you thinking?"

Stiles swallows, looks away briefly, then says,

"You. On your knees." It's a statement, but Derek wants to take it as an order. He can smell Stiles' arousal from here. He can smell _Stiles_. He steps forward, slowly so as not to scare Stiles, to stand right in front of him. He takes Stiles' hand very gently in his, and brings it up to the collar, to the D-ring. Stiles catches on and, just like Derek had done a minute ago, hooks his finger through the ring and tugs, just a little.

Derek nearly wrenches something in his neck when he throws his head to the side, overcome by the sheer relief of submission. He can feel Stiles' body heat, hear his jackrabbit heart. Derek usually feels big around Stiles, because although there's only an inch between them in height Derek is significantly broader, but right now he feels just the right size to be manhandled by Stiles. Normally he does his best to loom, work that extra inch to his advantage, always in control of the situation: now he slumps, bares his throat and tries to appear as unthreatening as possible.

Stiles keeps his finger in the ring, keeping up the pressure, but his other hand comes up to curve around the back of Derek's neck: a clear signal that sends sparks down Derek's spine. Derek closes his eyes and touches Stiles' thigh with the back of his knuckles.

"Please," he says. Stiles takes a ragged breath, and says,

"Do it."

And Derek means to take it slow, really he does - he's never sucked anyone off and Stiles has never been sucked off and he wants to savour this because it might be the only chance he gets, but when he sinks to his knees and shoves his face into Stiles' crotch, he just kind of _snaps_. He gets the button undone and the zipper down with shaking fingers, and instead of kissing the inside of Stiles' thigh like he meant to, he yanks down his underwear and goes straight for his cock. He doesn't even get a good look at it, he just wants Stiles' dick in his mouth _so badly_. This, he realises, is probably what they mean by 'gagging for it'.

Stiles tastes like salt and Derek fits as much of him in his mouth as he can, licking a bit but mainly sucking hard, wanting more. His technique's probably shit, but Stiles doubles over and grabs his shoulders, groaning and occasionally saying things like _fuck_ and _Derek_ , so Derek figures it's okay so long as Stiles doesn't know any better. He bobs his head a couple of times, like he thinks you're supposed to, and Stiles jerks his hips, almost choking him, but he doesn't pull away: this is submission, letting Stiles use him as he likes. This is what he wants, this is what he _needs_. Maybe it's what they both need.

It doesn't take long for Stiles to convulse and come, flooding hot and slick in his mouth. Objectively, the taste's not great, but Derek swallows it all and does his best to coax out the last spurts. Stiles curls his fingers through the back of Derek's collar and pulls him away when he can't take it any more; Derek kind of wants to keep licking him clean until he's hard again, but he lets Stiles direct him. The tug of the collar around his neck makes his cock ache, and he presses the heel of his hand against it.

"Jerk yourself off," says Stiles, with a bravado that Derek can tell he doesn't entirely feel, but the words are enough: he opens his pants and goes for it, working his hand hard and fast, _slick-slick_ noises sounding very loud, but he doesn't care because Stiles' eyes are fixed on his cock jutting out of the v of his undone fly and he's still got a couple of fingers through the collar, and that's all Derek needs. He comes over his hand and the carpet and probably gets some on his jeans, but he doesn't care. He'll lick it up if Stiles asks.

Stiles doesn't ask. Actually, he looks like cold hard reality is setting in, so Derek tucks them both away. If there's going to be a conversation about this, it's not going to be one for which they'll want to have their dicks hanging out. Then he leans in and does what he meant to earlier - presses a kiss to the inside of Stiles' thigh, through his jeans.

Derek actually hears Stiles' jaw click closed and instead of saying whatever he was going to, Stiles sighs through his nose before murmuring, in a tone which Derek can't quite decipher:

"I guess that's my answer." _You haven't asked a question,_ Derek wants to say, but that would be pretending that he's human - he understands the question that Stiles' body language had asked perfectly.

"C'mon," says Stiles, and lets go of his collar to step back a couple of paces and sit down on the side of his bed. Derek crawls after him on his hands and knees, unashamed, to lay his head on Stiles' knee like a dog. Stiles rewards him with the fingers of one hand through his collar and the other lightly petting his hair.

His heartbeat has slowed, and Derek is lulled by the steady thump-thump. The light pressure of the collar against his throat isn't constricting, but comforting. He should be panicking; they should both be panicking. He's just sucked off an underage boy who he needs to keep on his side, and Stiles may be more mature than he was at sixteen but the last thing he needs is for him to transfer his obsession with the Martin girl onto Derek. This could so easily turn into something neither of them are ready for and go terribly, terribly wrong.

But he's not. The collar has just - flipped something in him. He's not thinking of potential complications and he doesn't think Stiles is either. For once, he's absolutely _content_.

Dimly, Derek is aware that at some point they're going to have to talk about this. Talk properly, like humans, because Stiles doesn't have the advantage of understanding scents and thus needs him to Use His Words. It might be messy. It'll definitely be uncomfortable. But right now, Stiles' thigh is warm against his cheek and his heartbeat is steady in Derek's ears, his bedroom carpet rough against Derek's knees, and Derek feels safe enough to close his eyes.


End file.
